Chapter 122 (1/2)

“If you weren’t wearing a shirt, this would feel much better,” Hardin comments.

I laugh for a moment, but I’m silenced by the memory of his teasing me in the kitchen last night. Leaning forward, I reach for the bottom of my loose work shirt and tug it free from my pants. I hear the gasp from Hardin as I pull it, along with the tank top, up and over my head.

“What? It was your idea,” I remind him, leaning back against him. His hands are rougher now, pushing into my skin with purpose, and my head falls back against his chest.

He mumbles something under his breath, and I mentally pat myself on the back for wearing a decent bra. Granted, it’s one of the two decent bras I wear, but no one sees them outside of myself, and Landon, from a few embarrassing laundry mishaps.

“This is new.” Hardin’s finger pushes under the strap on one of my shoulders. He lifts the strap and drops it back down.

I don’t speak. I only scoot back slightly, pressing back against his open legs. He groans, wrapping the span of his hand around the base of my neck, his fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of my jaw and back down to the delicate skin under my ear.

“Feels good?” he asks, knowing the answer.

“Mhmm” is the only coherent sound that I can muster. When he chuckles, I push farther into him, essentially rubbing my body against his crotch, and I bring my hand up to my bra strap and slide it down my shoulder.

His hand tightens on my throat. “No teasing,” he warns, pushing the strap back up with the hand that was working on my shoulders.

“Says the master of the art,” I complain, and push the strap down again. Sitting shirtless in front of him, removing my bra while his hand is still holding me in place, is making me crazy. I’m worked up, and Hardin is only amplifying my hormones by panting and rubbing himself against me.

“No teasing,” I mock his words. I don’t have the chance to get a laugh in at his expense before he puts his hands on my shoulders and turns my head toward him.

“I haven’t been fucked in five months, Theresa. You’re pushing every ounce of my self-control,” he harshly whispers, just above my lips. I make the first move, pressing my mouth to his, and I’m reminded of the first time we kissed, in his dorm room at that damn fraternity house.

“You haven’t?” I gape, thanking my stars that he hasn’t been with anyone during our separation. I feel as if I knew this somehow, I knew that he wouldn’t. Either that, or I forced myself to be convinced that he would never touch another woman.

He’s not the same person he was a year ago. He doesn’t use lust and harsh words to get to people. He doesn’t need a different girl every night, he is stronger now . . . He’s the same Hardin that I love, but he’s much stronger now.